


So Destiel Walks Into A Bar...

by despntiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Karaoke, M/M, established Destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/despntiel/pseuds/despntiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Established Destiel. Dean takes Cas out for a date with lots of alcohol, some karaoke, and of course fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Destiel Walks Into A Bar...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my lovely betas, Ringo, Kaitlyn, and Tanna!

It's getting late, and Sam has already turned in, the prude that he is. He got his own room, just like he has been doing for the past couple months, ever since Dean finally worked up the courage to admit the real extent of his relationship with Castiel. So when the older hunter decides to take said angel out for a date, they don't have to worry about sneaking into the motel room with his sleeping brother later that night or trying to keep the noise down when things get hot and heavy. It's a luxury, having your own room to share with your boyfriend, it really is. And Dean plans to make the most of it tonight by getting completely and totally _smashed_.

It used to take exorbitant amounts of alcohol to get Castiel just slightly buzzed, but now that he's losing his grace in small bits and pieces, it's not as difficult to loosen him up. And although that worries Dean in a dark, murky place in the back of his mind, he's not beneath taking advantage of it. As the couple climbs into the Impala, he makes that much clear.

“...lots and lots of shots,” the hunter is saying with a mischievous grin.

“In that case, neither of us will be in a state to drive back to the motel,” Castiel points out.

Dean shoots him a knowing look. “You're not zapping us anywhere. We'll get back fine. Chill out.”

At which Castiel rolls his eyes but doesn't protest.

It doesn't take long to find the nearest place that serves alcohol – a rundown joint that has a warm yellow glow on the inside and is obviously well-loved, if the cheerful crowd inside is anything to go by. They weave their way through the swarm of people and pull up seats at the bar, ordering shots of whiskey straight from the get-go. Dean tosses back his first few like water, and Castiel does the same, but after the fifth one Dean starts to get a little tipsy. The angel makes it to seven before he says gravely, “I think I'm starting to feel something,” and Dean claps him on the back, laughing, “I knew you had it in ya!”

After another hour or so of whiskey shots and beer, the hunter is beginning to feel pretty decently drunk. Castiel isn't quite to that point yet, but he's getting there, and Dean is about to suggest finding another less populated hangout, or maybe even turning in altogether, when the crowd starts to get a little rowdy, yelling out and clapping.

“What's going on?” Dean asks no one in particular, turning around – straight into the glare of an overhead spotlight. He flinches and blinks into it before it finally swings away, lighting up a poorly made stage in the far corner of the bar. Hanging above the stage is a banner declaring ' _Thursday Night Karaoke!'_ and when a man with spiked hair jumps up on the platform with a microphone, there is a smattering of applause and cheering.

“Who's ready for some kaaaaraoke?” the guy says into the mic, eliciting more whoops and shouts from the crowd.

“Shit,” Dean murmurs under his breath, and Castiel looks around at him worriedly, but doesn't see the look of discomfort he was expecting on the hunter's face. In fact, it's quite the opposite; a delighted smile is sneaking slowly onto his cheeks. “I love karaoke.”

The angel cocks his head to the side in confusion, or surprise, or a mixture between the two. “You like to sing?”

“What, you don't think I'm any good? You've heard me in the shower, you oughta know I'm damn good with a tune,” Dean says indignantly, his drunken state seeping through into his words.

“Of course,” Castiel obliges him, “but I was unaware that you enjoyed performing in front of crowds.”

It's the alcohol, rather than honesty, that makes Dean nod his head. “Oh yeah, every once in a while. Can't deny the people what they want, you know.”

The angel raises an amused eyebrow and watches his lover take another swig of beer, clapping happily when the first volunteer clambers up onto the stage and the instrumental version of “Here I Go Again” starts to play over the crackly speakers in the corner. The guy up on the stage breaks out into some weird dance while he sings, and Castiel's not so sure about it, but Dean begins to sing along during the chorus, turning his bright green eyes on the angel, banging on the bar every time he says, “ _Here_ I go, a _gain_ , on my ooowwn!” and it's just too much effort to hold back the smile that is threatening to burst the seam of his lips without his permission.

When the song ends, above the hoops and hollers of the crowd, Castiel hears the man running the show call out, “Who's next? C'mon, ladies and gents, let's see what you got!”

One look at Dean, and it takes all of two seconds for the angel to raise the hunter's hand in his own, calling out, “Here!”

Dean blinks at him in surprise, but for some reason – most likely because he's so drunk – he just goes along with it. “Yeah, me next!” He winks at Castiel before walking (well, more like staggering) across the bar to the stage. A few people cheer him on as he talks with the spiky-hair guy and picks out his song, and then he's swaying up on the platform, microphone clenched in one fist.

The intro music begins to play in the background, a smooth guitar riff, and he starts, “I ain't done this in a long time,” and licks his lips. “But this, uh, s'for my boyfriend.” The smile he beams in Castiel's direction is brighter than the spotlight shining down on him, and he looks adorably goofy and so completely intoxicated.

There are a couple grunts and snickers, but they're mostly swallowed up by the overwhelming “ _Awwww_ ,” that sweeps through the crowd. Someone back at the bar elbows Castiel in the side, and he looks over at them with wide eyes, smiling shyly. This certainly isn't what he had expected when he sent Dean up to sing, but he was humbled nonetheless.

And then, with a slight alteration to the words, Dean begins:

 

_Boy, you're lookin' fine tonight,_   
_And everybody has got you in their sights._   
_What you're doing with a clown like me,_   
_Is surely one of life's little mysteries._

 

The song is slow, creating a much different atmosphere in the bar than when the Whitesnake song was vibrating through the floorboards, but Dean's obvious sincerity and enjoyment is infectious, and soon everyone in the place is smiling along with him as he sings. The conversations that don't fade into awed silence dip down to a lower volume, and Castiel realizes for the first time that when he wants to, his hunter can really sing.

 

_So tonight, I'll ask the stars above,_   
_How did I ever win your love?_   
_What did I do, what did I say,_   
_To turn your angel eyes my way?_

 

Castiel chuckles low to himself, and Dean laughs as well, both of them enjoying a joke that no one else gets to privilege to know – he's singing the song to an actual angel, the cheesy bastard. But that doesn't make it tug at his heart any less, doesn't prevent his chest from welling up with emotion so full that it might explode, shatter him into tiny pieces that would fit perfectly with the jagged edges of Dean's own broken bits. The hunter doesn't have to say it for Castiel to know it's true – Dean is too allergic to emotions to put his feelings into words on his own, but this song can say it for him. And it does. It's the best he can do.

 

_Don't anyone wake me if it's just a dream,_   
_'Cause he's the best thing that ever happened to me._   
_All you fellas, you can look all you like,_   
_But this guy, you see, he's leaving here with me tonight, hey yeah!_

_There's just one more thing that I need to know,_   
_If this is love, why does it scare me so?_   
_It must be something only you can see,_   
_'Cause, boy, I feel it when you look at me._

 

And it may be the alcohol, or it may be something deeper, embedded into his heart and his soul, a physical need to be close to his angel, that makes Dean jump off the stage before the last chorus and stride right up to Castiel, plant both hands on the sides of his stubbled face, and kiss him breathless, right there in the middle of the bar with everyone staring at them. The angel stands stiff for a moment, blue eyes wide with shock, but then he melts into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Dean and bringing their bodies closer together. There's a noise going on somewhere in the background – applause, cheering, and... whistling? – but neither of them are really paying attention.

“Cas,” Dean whispers when they break apart, panting.

“Shall we go back to the motel?” Castiel asks breathlessly, and at Dean's quick, desperate nod, he takes charge; lays a twenty that he swiped from Dean's pocket on the counter and drags his hunter out to the car as the guy actually turns and waves to the crowd. The angel knows that he probably shouldn't tell Sam about any of this, because Dean wouldn't hear the end of it for weeks.

The spiky-hair guy is back up on the stage, yelling out into the mic, “Who's gonna top that? C'mon, the night's still young!” but Dean and Castiel are already whipping out of the parking lot, leaving Thursday Night Karaoke far behind.

Although, not too far. Sometimes when they are driving down the highway, headed toward a haunted house or a Wendigo-inhabited forest or an omen-sprinkled town, Dean pops in a cassette tape and Jeff Healey comes through the speakers: “ _So tonight, I'll ask the stars above, how did I ever win your love? What did I do, what did I say, to turn your angel eyes my way_...” And Dean and Castiel share a secret smile, interlace their fingers, lean into each other a little more. Sam just chalks it up to Weird-Profound-Bond-Stuff, but the hunter and his angel know better. And if they don't want to share it with anyone except the rest of the karaoke crowd, well, then that's their business.


End file.
